


We Wants It

by Hope



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-09
Updated: 2002-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo has something else Gollum wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Wants It

**Author's Note:**

> a little madness. Couldn't help myself. vampire!hobbits, huzzah!

Frodo's throat was pale in the starlight. Pale and smooth like moonstone, and Gollum hissed and peered at it through his fingers. The White Face had set not long ago and he had emerged from his rough burrow of earth and plant-decay, absently cracking open small, shelled insects with his sharp teeth, revelling in the feel of their last desperate struggle against his tongue. He had slinked back to the campsite, body low on the ground, smelling something . . . something hot, something thick and wet.

And he had found this.

The elven cloak had slipped a little, and Frodo's skin was pale, white, almost silver in the starlight, and Sam's hand on his breastbone was brown and still. And Frodo's throat. It almost hurt him to look at it, but he couldn't resist and he found himself moving closer, drawn by that almost-imperceptible flutter just under the jaw.

And Gollum was hungry.

It was a hunger in him that had lain dormant, a hunger older than the gnawing ache for his Precious; a hunger reawakened by the sight of dark curls brushing that pale neck, not bathed in sunlight this time, but nonetheless unmistakable in their familiarity.

Gandalf had told Frodo that Smeagol had strangled Deagol, killed him in his sudden desire for the Ring. For perhaps there were things in Middle-Earth that even Gandalf had no knowledge of -- things, creatures, beings . . . that have somehow slipped between that gap that defines *mortal* from *immortal*. And what else could Gandalf have deduced from the half-words and sobs of *neck* and *throat* and *we killed him, love*?

Gollum whimpered and thrust his fingers into his mouth, eyes still half-squinted against the brilliance of light reflected on Frodo's skin. Sam - face buried in the nape of Frodo's neck - didn't stir as Gollum edged closer, one hand splayed on the earth as he shuffled forward in a squat.

"We wants it," Gollum whispered, finally able to open his eyes fully as his shadow obscured the too-bright light that painted Frodo's bare skin. He knelt on the ground before the two sleeping hobbits, leaning in a little, nostrils flaring as he smelt salt and heat and coppery life. His fingers fluttered above the point where jaw met neck. Tentatively, he brushed back the errant locks of dark hair that caressed the fragile pulse-beat there; all sense of softness lost on his fingers, calloused hard from digging earth and dark torment.

Gollum froze as Frodo shifted slightly, tilting his head back a little - perhaps in sleep he thought the touch was his lover's caress - and something all at once both hot and icy pounded up from deep inside Gollum.

His lips was cold, and Sam's breath was moist and close and sickly-sweet as he bent his mouth to the curve of Frodo's neck. His tongue lapped out to stroke the soft corner of flesh below the jaw, tasting warmth, life, dusk. Then he bit, and the taste was more, the taste was everything, and the pounding in him rose to meet the thick slide of it down his throat like treacle and it settled in him like warmth, like life, like the sun setting red on the surface of a river, like the sound of a whisper, a beloved voice *I'll give you this, love . . .*

He pulled back, sated finally but still empty, motionless for long moments as he watched dull bruises like twilight arise around the two clean puncture marks on Frodo's neck; they would have been barely visible but for the aching contrast between the shadowy smudge and the surrounding pristine skin. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his sunken chest, though he was warmer now that he had been for many years - many centuries - and turned away.

They would wake soon, in the dim half-light of dawn before the sun broke over the horizon, they would wake and find him gone and call for him impatiently to lead them on, lead them further into the darkness. They would notice the mark on Frodo's neck, Sam would definitely notice it but he would dismiss it, or spare a little guilt for himself, perhaps. For marring its perfection with a love bite.

**Author's Note:**

> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/1750.html


End file.
